Dreamer
by mashkabash
Summary: Joly is normal. She has a normal house, normal grades and a normal family. At least she thinks so. Then Declan shows up and secrets about her family come out.
1. Chapter 1

Preface

I entered the room and as I looked around, I noticed that no one else inhabited it. I glanced at the pictures on the fireplace. A

picture of me as a child, an auburn haired, green-eyed child missing her two front teeth, standing next to a boy whom looked exactly

like me, only with blue eyes, was the centerpiece. The rest of the picture frames were spaced perfectly. Photographs of the blue-eyed

boy and me as infants, our first day of school, and several others, leading up to our most recent school pictures. I turned around and

stared out the window. It was dark and the rain was pouring, pounding against the window. A clash of thunder made me jump and

chills made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I quickly pulled the curtains closed and exited the room. The house was

extremely quiet and I wondered where my mom was. I walked up the stairs to the second floor, calling her name. I reached the second

floor and walked down the hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow of someone behind me. I quickly turned around and

screamed as a pair of dark eyes stared into mine. He was here.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

I jolted up in bed in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand. 1:37 in the morning glared at me. Awesome. I fell back into my bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was night number four that I had woken up at this time. Every night it was the same dream. Every night I saw the dark eyes boring into mine. I knew him. I could remember the recognition that crossed my features. However, once I awoke, I couldn't make myself remember to whom the eyes belonged. I only knew that it frightened me more than anything.

I fluffed my pillow and attempted to fall back asleep. I shifted, unable to find a comfortable position; pulling the covers up to my chin, uncovering one of my legs so that I could cool my sweaty, shaking body. After two hours of sleep eluding me, I threw the covers off and forced myself out of bed. Pulling my hair up, I walked to the bathroom connected to my bedroom and turned on the light, quickly shielding my eyes as light flooded the room. Once my eyes had adjusted to the bright florescent lighting, I braved a glance into the mirror. I looked ghastly. The bags underneath my eyes seemed to have darkened even more than they had the night before. My eyes were bloodshot and my skin took on the color of ash. I looked like a corpse. These dreams were slowly killing me, I was sure of it.

Turning to my claw foot bathtub, I turned the knobs so that the hot was as far as it would go. Sticking the plug into the drain, I sat on the edge of the tub as steam rolled over me and filled the room. Slowly I stood, my bones aching, and began undressing. As I lowered myself into the scalding water, I hissed when the water burned my skin. I sank down in the water, until the only part of my body that was dry was my head. I leaned my head back and rested it on the edge of the tub. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. My body instantly began to relax, my muscles no longer felt like concrete. I could feel myself falling asleep; it seemed that a hot bath always helped coax me back to sleep. I let my head fall to the side as sleep once again overtook me.

I woke up after what only seemed like minutes. When I fully came to, I realized the water had cooled completely and I shivered at the temperature. I glanced at the clock I kept on the bathroom counter. I had managed two hours of sleep. Although I definitely could have used a few more, I gripped the sides of the bathtub and pushed myself up. Grabbing a towel, I hastily dried myself. I wrapped the thick towel around myself and stepped out of the water. Not even bothering to drain the water, I turned the bathroom light off and wandered to my dresser without bothering to turn my bedroom light on. The sun was just starting to rise and the little bit of sunlight illuminated my room just enough that I was able to cross my room without tripping over the dirty clothes and shoes I had left scattered on the floor. The hardwood floor was frigid beneath my feet and I shivered, wrapping the towel tighter around my body. Pulling on the top drawer, I pulled out underwear and a bra. Dropping my towel to the floor, I began to dress myself.

Once dressed in my underwear I opened the next drawer, pulling out a t-shirt that was a size too big. I turned to my full-length mirror and took in my appearance. I wasn't skin and bones by any means, but with my lack of sleep and recent loss of appetite, I had lost a bit of weight. I pulled the shirt over my head and pulled the bottom drawer open, which held my jeans. My favorite jeans, with a small hole at the knee, were at the top. I unfolded them and pulled them on, first my left leg, then my right. I had lost more weight than I thought; the jeans were very loose around my waist. I dug around in my closet for a belt and tugged it through the loops on my jeans, tightening it to the notch furthest in. Once fully dressed, I assessed myself again in the mirror. I looked comfortable; I hated that word. I looked comfortable, and felt anything but. My bath had brought a little color to my cheeks, but I still looked ill, and my eyes were still bloodshot. I shrugged and grabbed two different colored socks from the floor. After inspecting them and deciding they were probably clean, I grabbed the closest pair of converse, navy blue; and carrying them in my hand, left my room, pulling the door closed behind me.

As I walked down the hall, towards the stairs, the smell of some sort of breakfast meat invaded my nostrils. My stomach lurched. I couldn't even remember the last time I had eaten anything and my body was reacting strongly. A wave of nausea hit me as I realized how hungry I actually was. It must have at least a few days since I'd managed to eat anything more than a few nibbles of food. Once I made it down the stairs, I followed the aroma into the kitchen, where my mother stood at the stove with her back to me. Sitting on one of the chairs that lined the island in the middle of the room, was the blue-eyed boy from the pictures in my dream. As I shuffled my feet across the floor, the boy turned around, glancing at me while he took a long drink from a glass of orange juice.

"Looking a little rough there, aren't you sis?" He said to me, with a little hint of worry in his voice. Our mother kept her back to us, and began to hum a song that she used to sing to us when we were children.

"I slept horribly last night. I had another nightmare." I whispered back to him, careful as to not let my mother know I wasn't sleeping well. He put his glass down and turned toward me, crossing his arms across his chest.

"The same one as the night before." It wasn't a question. He knew which nightmare I was talking about.

"And the same as the nights before that too," I told him. I sat myself at the counter next to him stiffly, and he spun his chair around so that our shoulders were touching. Instantly, the contact made my shoulders drop and I felt better than I had all morning. My mother turned around and put my plate in front of me before leaving the room, most likely going to grab the newspaper off the porch for my father. The blue-eyed boy and I sat in silence for a few minutes: he, finishing his breakfast, and I, using my fork to poke my eggs until the yolk broke and oozed onto my plate.

"Joly, you should really eat something, and don't tell me you aren't hungry. I know you haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning." Apparently, he remembered the last time I ate even though I didn't. I shrugged and continued to poke my eggs. He placed a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him.

"Eat. You've lost weight. You look like death. You don't have to eat everything. Just have some eggs and maybe a little bit of bacon." I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn't hungry, but before I got the words out, my stomach betrayed me by rumbling loudly. This put a smile on his face, his perfect, straight, white teeth appearing from between his lips. I managed a smirk, although it probably looked more like a grimace, and scooped up a bite of egg with my fork. Shoving the food into my mouth, I looked sideways at my brother as he watched me eat. I managed a few bites before I put my fork down, my appetite gone once again. He sighed and turned back to his food.

As he continued eating his breakfast, I studied my brother out of the corner of my eye. Jackson Kyle Miller, everyone called him Jack, was born exactly forty-nine minutes and thirteen seconds before me. He always told me it was because he was supposed to be the older, protective brother, who beat up the boys who made me cry. At six foot- four inches, he towered over many of the boys in our grade. As twins, we couldn't have looked any different. Although as a baby our hair had been the same color, his had darkened into almost a chestnut color, while mine stayed the same shade of auburn. At five foot-four inches, he looked more like my older brother than my twin. He played football, baseball, and swam on the swim team; while I was more contented just reading my books in the stands. He was popular and I was the quiet sister he tried to include in outings with his friends. Of course, I had a few friends of my own, but we didn't see each other outside of school, besides my best friend Mitch.

"Joly. Are you listening to anything I've said?" Jackson interrupted my thoughts. My mind had been wandering quite a bit recently. I glanced at him and shook my head.

"Sorry Jack, I'm a little out of it today. What were you saying?" My brother looked at me once again with worry and shook his head.

"It's alright, you should really think about taking some of those sleeping pills you've got. Anyway, I was saying that I've got practice after school today, so I was going to suggest that you drive the car home and sleep. I can get a ride from Brandon."

Brandon was Jackson's best friend. He was nice enough and when I was younger, I even had a little bit of a crush on him. He and Jackson had been friends since kindergarten, I think. He used to live in the house down the street from us until his parents got divorced. Now he lives on the edge of town with his mom and stepdad. I had spent many summer days at his house, having been dragged along by Jackson. I would sit on their porch swing and read while the guys played catch or worked on the 1967 Impala that Brandon's stepdad bought him as a birthday present. They loved that car; when they finally got it working, they drove all over town showing it off.

I nodded at Jackson and turned back to my food. I still wasn't hungry, but I knew Jackson was watching me. So I picked up a slice of bacon and shoved it in my mouth. We sat in silence for a while. Once I had finished my breakfast, Jackson stood up and took both of our plates to the sink. As I stood up, my father walked into the kitchen.

"Morning kiddos. Save any food for me?" Our dad was a big man, about as tall as Jackson and probably about seventy pounds heavier. He was a truck driver, so we would go a few days a week without seeing him, but he always managed to make it to all of Jackson's games. He was a kind man, and gave the best hugs; he could also be extremely strict when he needed to be. He spent ten years in the Marines before he met my mom. They had met in Germany, where her dad was stationed. Dad was twenty-six and Mom had just turned twenty-one. They got married two years later and Jackson and I were born just under a year later. Growing up, we had always asked our parents for more siblings, but they would always say that we were enough trouble growing up. Once we were older, we decided we were totally fine with it just being the four of us. We were all close and got along pretty well.

"There might be little bit left for you, I had to stop Joly from getting thirds." Jackson laughed and bumped me with his elbow. He hadn't told my parents about my nightmares, or the fact I hadn't been eating much. I was so grateful. I could only imagine the conversation that would bring. My dad laughed and ruffled my hair with his hand. Despite my lack of energy, I couldn't suppress a smile from appearing.

"Come on Joly. We should probably start heading to school. See you later Dad." Jackson walked past dad and grabbing his bag, headed for the front door. I started to follow him, when my dad grabbed my arm and turned me toward him.

"Hey kiddo, you alright? You look a little tired." So he had noticed something was off with me. I panicked slightly, trying to come up with a reason for the bags under my eyes.

"Just stressed out with school, I guess. I was up pretty late finishing up my AP English paper." That was a lie, I had finished that paper four nights ago, after the first time I had the nightmare. My dad studied me for a little bit, as if searching for anything else out of the ordinary. Seeming to find nothing else wrong with me, he dropped his hold on me and smiled.

"Alright, have a good day at school. Learn something for me, deal?" I nodded and turned around again to leave. I grabbed my bag and walked to the front door. Just as my hand touched the handle, my dad called down the hall to me.

"And Joly," he paused. "Try to eat something at school today; you look like you've lost a little bit of weight." My dad was way more observant than I gave him credit for.


End file.
